


i'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck

by scorpiod



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Bloodplay, Breathplay, Choking, D/s Vibes, Dreams, Established Relationship, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sibling Incest, Sub Seth, Unsafe Sex, pushy bottom Seth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 08:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13142628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/pseuds/scorpiod
Summary: Post 3x06. Shadow Richie left behind dark bruising around Seth's throat. He can't stop touching them.





	i'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [opheliahyde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliahyde/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! You didn't exactly prompt this, but I think it's inspired by your prompts and your general likes for these two <3
> 
> The mildly dubious consent tag refers to certain situations with Shadow Richie, not Richie/Seth.

Seth has large, dark bruises all around his throat in the shape of Richie’s hand. 

He stares in the mirror, afterwards--everyone recovering from the nightmare that was Richie’s goddamn _shadow self_ , and Seth trying to get his bearings. His skin is a pale, unhealthy pallor, dark circles under his eyes; the lack of sleep will do that, but even though it’s been three days since Seth’s gotten a good night’s rest, his body was alight, pulse throbbing, still reliving the memory of Richie’s body in flames.

Seth digs his palms into his eyes, as if he could wash it, scrub it away. Push hard enough to make his mind stop thinking of it, but of course it doesn’t take, not like that. 

He takes another breath, inhaling sharply. Opens his eyes again. The bruises stare back at him, ugly, standing out, a sharp constant reminder of what happened written on his skin.

Seth presses his hands to his throat, where the finger and palm bruises bloom dark, purpling and bleeding into his flame tattoo. Pushes down until a flare of pain rushes through him, down his spine, and Seth shudders, his other hand tightly squeezing the marble sink edge like he may fall over.

He can still feel _him_ \--the red-eyed version of his brother, straight from literal hell--can feel him squeezing, can feel his breath in his ear as he whispered _we’re gonna rule like kings in Xibalba_ , and the darkest part of Seth answered back _yes_ , for just the briefest moment.

Gingerly, Seth pushes down into the pain until it flows through him--imagining Richie’s hand, tight and squeezing and possessive on him, red eyes piercing through him--and moans, nearly buckling over, his cock stirring in his jeans.

(later, Richie looks at the bruises for a second, then glances away, down at the ground, the shame radiating off him in waves. 

_It's okay_ , Seth thinks; _I liked it_ )

 

*

 

Richie avoids him for days afterwards, barely says a word to him, retreating into himself. Seth doesn’t have the strength to regroup, everyone going off to their own corner and get drunk and cry and punch walls in the wake of Ximena’s death.

Seth doesn’t have the strength to reach out to his brother and hold him as tightly as he wants to, keep him from slipping from his grasp. Richie disappears from their room, no longer there in the morning; he no longer comes to Seth’s bed.

( _that was always fucking weird_ , Burt says, _the way you two share a room_ , and Seth snarls at him to _fuck off_ , because he’s not gonna be judged by some ancient bloodsucking pot dealer)

“You avoiding me, buddy?” Seth asks Richie when he catches him in their room, combing through books, burying his nose in culebra research.

“No,” Richie says, not looking at him. “Gotta figure this shit out.”

Richie freezes him out, dead quiet, still as the grave, and Seth misses his hands on him.

 

*

 

Seth has a dream about fangs piercing his throat, not stopping, being torn apart the same way Richie tore apart that poor bastard in the hospital. Red rivers of his own blood run across the concrete floor beneath him, and Seth is back tied up against a stone column, his brother feasting on him, one hand holding him by the throat.

He doesn’t die in this dream; doesn’t turn either, just lives on and on like an endless fountain of blood for his brother to consume.

Richie finally pulls off his neck, still holding him by the throat, blood dripping from his chin, and the redness in his eyes the same shade.

 _Miss me, bro?_ Says the shadow in Richie’s voice, with Richie’s face. _Miss me touching you like this?_ He says, low and sweet like honey, reaching down to grab his cock. 

Seth’s hard and helpless, making soft mewling for his brother--tied up to the column with all their friends watching. _Want me to fuck you in front of all our buddies? Do you want them to know how goddamn desperate you are?_

Seth wakes up before he can answer, before it's too late; he's not bleeding or dying, alive and alone in bed, cock achingly hard and the bruises on his neck burning against his skin. He reaches up, touching where Richie had grabbed him and groans as pain flashes through his body.

 _I’d touch you_ , Seth still hears him say to him. He can't feel the ghost of his fingers on him and his cock, but he can hear him--Richie’s voice but just a bit lower, his eyes a bit wilder. His brother and not his brother. _You’re mine. I’ll never leave you alone._

He jerks himself off until he comes with a bitten off moan, his orgasm almost painful as it tears through him, shuddering and leaving him unsatisfied.

 

*

 

“What’s your goddamn problem?” Seth asks him, five days after. He still can’t get a good night’s rest. Richie won’t look at him anymore, like he was the one who turned into his evil twin and went on a rampage. “You want me to think you’ve been kidnapped again? Tear up this town looking for you? Is that what you want, Richard?”

Richie finally meets his eyes, even if it comes with his nose wrinkling in annoyance, glaring down at him. “What the fuck, Seth? I’m trying to stop Amaru, remember--.”

“Fuck you,” Seth hisses and shoves him. He didn’t expect Richie to even be moved, his brother stronger, can hold his ground ( _not even equals anymore_ ), but Richie steps back a bit, caught off guard, staring at Seth with his blue eyes wide. 

“You angry at me or some shit?” Seth pushes him again, and Richie goes back with Seth’s movements, Seth crowding Richie against the hallway, Seth pushing and shoving against his brother’s chest, something snarling and ugly inside him, growing more vicious the more Richie simply _lets_ him push him around, not fighting back. Richie just takes it--the shoving, the pushing. Maybe Seth should throw a swing at him as well. “You can’t disappear for three days and expect me to just put up with this shit.”

Seth was gone for five years and came back to find Richie different, with a woman siren singing to him in his head. Gone for three months and came back to find Richie different, strong and powerful in ways Seth would never be, and viciously hungry under his well pressed suit. Gone three days and finds Richie a single minded monster, eyes red and willing to rule hell with him. Seth doesn’t know if he can do this again.

“Seth--” Richie says and there’s a softness behind his glasses, in the way he looks at him--staring at the bruises at his throat, biting his bottom lip, frowning. “Seth,” he says and it sounds like a plea. “I don’t know if I can stop it from happening again. I don’t know if he’s coming back.” 

He doesn’t say anything else; the silence hurts. But Seth has always understood, loud and clear.

“I don’t care,” Seth says. He’s all wired wrong now, twisted up inside. He wants all the wrong things. Always has. “Just stop pushing me away.”

 

*

 

“Put 'em here,” Seth tells him later, gently grabbing one Richie’s hands and bringing it to his throat.

For a moment, Richie lets his hand rest there--his thumb on the jugular, fingertips pressing into his skin, holding him down. Richie’s hands, gentler than the monster who wore his face. Richie’s hands, not squeezing, but stroking, fingers rubbing the bruises like he can’t help himself. 

He pulls away, then, as if burned, stung, his eyes wide with horror like a spooked horse as he looks at Seth. 

Seth can’t handle that, not right now, not like this--spread out on their shared bed that Richie hasn’t slept in in days, the two of them stripped nude, and Richie faced with his handiwork.

All he wants is to feel Richie on him again. 

“No, no, like this,” he says, reaching for his brother’s hands again. “C’mere.” Hands at his throat, Seth arches under him. Lets him see how hard he gets from this, how needy and desperate. Seth thrusts up, trying to grind his cock in brother’s hip, gasping when he feels sweet friction explode throughout his body. 

“Please,” he begs, spreading his legs for Richie, open wide as he can be. His cock juts out, thick and filled with blood, already leaking precome for Richie. “I keep dreaming about this,” he tells him. His mind won't let him rest, haunted. “It needs to be you.”

He can feel the hesitation in his brother’s body, a tenseness in his spine but his eyes are dark, flashing culebra yellow, and Richie _gives_ at last, pulling in close to Seth. He leans down, his body covering him, suddenly blanketed by Richie--Richie above him and surrounding him, smelling like cologne and coppery blood. Seth’s breath hitches. Richie presses a kiss down to his forehead, the way he used to when they were kids, the way he hasn’t in a long while.

Then two iron hands close around his throat and Seth moans freely, hooking one leg around his hips. Seth’s already slick and open for him, gotten himself ready while Richie watched and stripped himself.

“God,” Richie groans, looking down on him, tongue wetting his lips as he watches him. Hungry. His hands don’t squeeze, but the pressure on his bruises makes Seth shiver as sparks of pleasure run through his spine.

“Please, Richie, please,” he begs now, shame gone, sanity gone. He arches up into his brother, into his hands, grabs on to him and pushes him down against him. “Please, Richie, I want to--”

Richie squeezes then, cutting him off mid-sentence, words dying as his breath goes out of his lungs. Seth can’t make a noise, helpless as a full body shudder wracks through his body, warmth coiling in his body, his cock heavy and throbbing.

“Fuck, you really like that,” Richie says, panting for air he doesn't need, head cocked, observing him.

He lets go of Seth then, softening his grip as Seth gasps for air, but before Seth can say anything about it, Seth can feel his cock at his entrance, nudging against the lube-slicked hole. It doesn’t take much for Richie to push in, the head of his dick breaching him, slowly, careful at first--then all at once, Seth gasping raggedly as he’s spread open. It burns, even with the lube, both torn open and full at last, Richie’s cock always a little big for him.

“Fuck,” Richie moans, eyes fluttering shut, looking down at where their bodies were joined, Richie pistoning in and out in small motions, couldn’t even hold still. Seth scrambles, grabbing onto Richie’s shoulder, another hand finding his hair, “god, god, _fuck_ , Richie” spilling from his mouth. 

Richie cuts him off again, pressure on his windpipe, robbing Seth of breath as he pulls out and back inside with a hard thrust that makes him strain against Richie’s grip, body arching and bending towards his hands as he struggles for breath. Seth’s cock twitches against his stomach, a flurry of heat shooting up his spine, his guts warm and coiling and ready.

 _More_ , he mouths at his brother, hoping he can read him. _More, please_.

Richie leans down, slowing his thrusts suddenly, pressure dying down both between his legs and against his throat but before Seth can complain, he kisses him on the mouth, Richie’s hand still on his neck, holding him there, through it. Richie’s tongue finds his and his teeth take his lower lip into his mouth, teasing him with fangs that don’t break skin just yet. 

Richie fucks him like that, the grip on his throat alternating between gently and hard enough so he sees stars, Richie fucking in and out of him with each squeeze, mouth hovering over him, their bodies rocking together. 

“Richie,” Seth cries out, before Richie squeezes hard, holding him down by the throat as his teeth find his shoulder and draw blood. The pain is sharp, and suddenly it’s overwhelming--the burn of his stretched out ass and the tearing of his skin and the constant pressure on his throat, all too much.

Seth comes with choked off noise that dies under Richie’s hands as pleasure and pain wrack his body. 

His vision goes white momentarily, blacking out, seeing stars behind his eyes and then--

Richie’s hands are gone from his throat, stroking his hair, cupping his cheek. His throat is so sore; it hurts to speak. He’s bleeding all over the bed. Seth can’t think beyond Richie’s eyes and his own spent orgasm, Richie’s come sticky on his thighs, his own come still messy on his stomach. 

He lets out a soft sigh of contentment, but Richie looks at him with that burning shame again, and Seth swears to god, Richie gets off on it--feeling like a bad, bad boy for taking what he wants. 

_I’m so fucking sorry_ , Richie says, _I didn’t want to hurt you_ , and it’s the last thing Seth wants to hear.

Seth grabs his wrist, his body weak, recovering but he can always push it.

“Again,” he tells his brother. “Do it again.”


End file.
